Page 14 of Devil in the Details

Olive

T he first day of a new job is like thefirst day of high school. It’s awkward, exhausting, and sometimes you wish you would’ve just stayed in bed. And although seeing Pope was probably the highlight of it all, the woman who was training me had been brutal.

Stern and strict, all my errors were met with scolding, as if I were an idiot and she was losing her patience with me. Although she was crazy-dedicated to her work and how things ran, I felt like it was severely lacking, even if I’d been damn good at my job at Brookwood Financial Holdings.

And then there’d been Pope. Seeing him, watching him work, knowing he was in his element, it was like this forbidden piece of fruit I couldn’t stop lusting after.

And thankfully, he’d had meetings back-to-back, understandable for a Monday morning, and lucky for me, I hadn’t worried about him scrutinizing me as well.

Besides, I didn’t want to be further embarrassed with Mrs. Hartley correcting me in front of him. I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t handle this.

So here I found myself, right after work, at a little grocery store right next to Dexter and Calvin. I had a little red basket in my hand as I made a beeline straight for the wine section. And after that? Chocolate. Because a stressful day called for some alcohol and sugar.

The grocery store wasn’t anything but about ten aisles of organic, healthy shit. Stuff I wasn’t accustomed to buying, because living in the city meant everything was expensive as hell.

But wine… wine and chocolate, I splurged the hell out of. Because if you couldn’t treat yourself during an especially shitty day, what was the point of living?

My heels clicked against the tiled floor, and the hum from the refrigerator section seemed to fill the entire interior of the store.

I stepped into the aisle and saw wine bottles surrounding both sides of me. It was like I was in the middle of paradise.

Different flavors. Different countries. Some robust, others sweet. Dry, wet, fruity, spicy. For a small store that sold goat cheese, organic milk, and gluten-free cupcakes, I was impressed and surprised by their selection.

I started walking up and down the aisle, not rushing my selection, because a good, hearty wine had to be perfect, especially when it went with chocolate.

Red or white? A nice iced wine or a flavorful sake?

I debated this in my head as I continued moving up and down the aisle, knowing it wasn’t like I could get really drunk tonight, not with having to be back bright and early with Sergeant Severe in the morning.

But a nice little buzz before I went to bed would probably keep the nightmares of data entry away.

I reached up and grabbed a bottle of pinot grigio and brought it down, reading over the label, admiring the artwork on the bottle. That was another selling point for me when I selected my wine. How pretty was the bottle?

Typically, I wasn’t particular about what alcohol I consumed. Reds and whites all tasted about the same to me, but a pretty bottle… that always made me feel better.

“May I suggest, if you’re going to get a bottle of wine, to reach higher on the shelf?”

I curled my fingers tightly around the neck of the bottle as his voice slammed through me. I looked up and over to see Pope standing a few feet from me, an identical red basket in his hand. I couldn’t help but notice the contents.

Whole grain wheat bread. Organic, free range deli meat. Romaine lettuce. Almond milk. And a bottle of whiskey stashed at the very bottom.

There was an array of other items awfully normal for a man of his standing. I didn’t know what I expected. Maybe someone else to do the shopping for him? Maybe he didn’t eat normal things like sandwiches, and instead dined out at five-star ritzy restaurants on the daily.

I knew it was a ridiculous notion and thought, because he was just like everyone else. He was just like me. At that one dinner I had with him, he was so down to earth, funny, and I hadn’t gotten that rich, snooty attitude from him that I normally got from people who worked in the business district.

I looked down at the bottle of wine I held. It was fifteen dollars. For me, that was pretty damn expensive. “We can’t all afford hundred-dollar bottles of chianti, Mr. Shelby.” I looked back at him and smiled. I held up the bottle so he could see. “Besides, how pretty is this bottle?”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “I’m not saying buy a hundred-dollar bottle of wine, Miss Morris. I’m just saying I’m sure a pretty bottle doesn’t equal a good glass of wine.”

I didn’t bother telling him I probably couldn’t tell the difference between a good glass of wine and one from a cardboard box, but instead smiled slowly, almost sarcastically, and put that pretty bottle of fifteen-dollar wine right in my basket.

He stepped closer to me and reached up to the top shelf, the scent of his cologne nearly making me moan aloud.

I felt his body heat, his close proximity making me feel on edge, nervous.

He pulled down a bottle of wine, the black bottle simple and elegant, the white label and silver lettering screaming expensive.

He showed it to me, and I glanced down at the price, noting it was nearly a hundred bucks.

To him, that was probably chump change, but to me, that was a few bottles of wine and some bars of chocolate for the next couple weeks. That or my damn water bill.

“Best bottle of wine I’ve ever had, and I’ve had some that were considered rare.” The way he said it, the sound of his voice, wasn’t snobby, wasn’t like he was trying to rub it in or brag.

I could hear the genuine sincerity of his tone, as if he wanted me to try it because he liked it and honestly wanted me see how good it was.

“I promise it’ll open up your palate.” The way he spoke, the sultriness of his voice, nearly had me giving in right then.

I didn’t like that he had this effect on me. I always kept my life in control, didn’t let anyone—least of all a man—dictate what I did or how I felt. But with Pope, I felt like things were changing. I felt like I was changing how I felt toward him.

I nodded and looked down at my bottle in my red basket. “Maybe a rain check?” I looked up at him, strands of my hair falling and obstructing my view. He was watching me with this gleam in his eyes, this hidden knowledge of something.

“Rain check. Absolutely.” He kept his gaze on my eyes for a little longer than was probably comfortable for most people... including me, because to be honest, I felt these emotions growing for him at an accelerated rate.

I opened my mouth, unsure what I was even about to say, but I closed my lips before I made a fool of myself or really crossed that line.

He’s my boss.

I work for him now.

“Until tomorrow,” he said in a voice that had my body instantly reacting.

“Tomorrow,” I said but wondered if he’d even heard me, my voice was so soft.

And then just like that, he was gone, walking down the aisle and away from me. And the craziest part of it all was the fact that all I wanted to do was say fuck protocol and rules and go after him.